Wolf Girl's Dream
by Jacqueline Tyler
Summary: The events of The Day of the Doctor are sending ripples throughout the universes. In Pete's World, Rose Tyler has a nightmare, and her husband rather doesn't want to know what it was about.


With a start and a shriek, she woke, and sat up, breathing hard, her skin glistening with a fine sheen of sweat, as if she had just been running a few miles. She shook her head in an attempt to clear it, gasping at the subsequent pain and the rising nausea. Clutching her head with both hands, she put it between her knees, and tried to send calming thoughts to her heaving stomach - with limited success, she thought wrily. She closed her eyes, forcing herself to slow down her breathing, when there was movement beside her and a rustle of the covers, and then finally a cool pair of hands tugged hers gently away from her head, lifting her face with a soft touch on her chin, smoothing strands of long hair away. "Bad dream?" a quiet voice asked, and she opened her eyes to find herself face to face with her husband, who was smiling at her, his hair a gloriously tousled mess, his dark brown eyes creasing ever so slightly at the edges in concern.

She blinked, and opened her mouth, but her answer was lost when a stream of bile rose up into her throat, making her gag.

He released her head and leaned in for a closer look, taking careful note of her somewhat dilated pupils, her pallid skin, the tiny drops of perspiration that haloed her features. "Are you feeling ill?" he asked softly.

One hand clamped over her mouth, she nodded, wide-eyed. "Need...loo," she managed to get out before throwing off her covers and scrambling out of the low bed with quick movements. As soon as she was standing, though, she let out a groan. He could see her eyes lose their focus even before she started to sway, and quickly scuttled over to where she had been sitting. "Oh no. No no no no no no no, you don't," he told her, and kneeling on the bed, neatly caught her upper body in his arms. "Rose?"

She struggled against him. "Doctor, I'm - gonna be sick –" she began groggily, but he laid a finger lightly against her lips and held up his other hand in a pose she knew well. "Okay?" he whispered, and when she nodded her consent, he positioned his hands against her temples, long fingers fanned out over her face. He closed his eyes, entering her the familiar space of her mind with confident ease, probing, and telling her revolting brain that it wasn't in fact detecting anything out of its normal parameters. Immediately, her body relaxed; he could sense the wave of nausea ebbing away. He concentrated on the joy her presence evoked in him, the infinite tenderness he felt for her, allowing her to see the way he pictured it inside his head: intricate, swirling patterns of golden mist, circles within circles, like Gallifreyan lettering. The eternal love of a Time Lord. Then, slowly, he retreated from her mind again, and opened his eyes to see her give him a weak little smile.

"Thank you." she sighed, grateful. "Neat trick, that."

He returned her smile, a little smugly. "Better, then?"

"Much. Phew, that came in quick. Hope it's not to do with that chicken earlier. It was in the fridge for two days, but it looked OK. Stands to show. Or it was the sauce. We both had that, though. You feelin' alright?" Casually, she tugged a strand of blond hair behind her ear, widening her smile.

He suppressed a chuckle. Oh, she was adorable – no wonder, she'd learned from the best – but her prattling still wasn't fooling him. Neither was her smile. Or the hair-tucking. Well, the smile could almost have fooled him. He loved her smile. Anyway. He gently touched the tip of her nose with one long finger. "Rose. Will you ever stop pampering me? I know you don't want me to worry, but you've just had a nightmare - or some kind of telepathic vision – that made your stomach flip over. I am already worried. Weeeeell, a bit worried. Tiny bit. Feels huge, though, that little worry. Rubbish, feeling worried, using up so much energy without actually really accomplishing anything. But so human. No species in the whole wide universe worries as much as you lot. Er, us lot, sorry. Did you know that worry is outlawed on at least 356 planets, including Florana, and UX-4732, and on almost every world in the Hercules Cluster? Very sensible. Though of course sometimes you can't help worrying. Alas –"

Rose laughed and poked an elbow into his ribs. "Doctor, you're babbling again!"

He rubbed the place where she got him and shot her a mock-indignant look. "Ouch! Careful with your Time Lord, missie, you've only got the one." She laughed harder, clearly thinking that one was more than enough for her, which prompted him to tease her with a grin and his infamous wink, delivered with a small swing of his head and a click of his tongue - a gesture he knew she adored. "Besides, I'm allowed to babble. You were doing it before, so I'm legit. And seeing as I'm already worried, you can just as well tell me what it was that spooked you in your...dream," he said, lightly. "If it was a dream. Was it a dream?"

She let out a breath. Of course he wouldn't just let it go. "You," – she pointed an accusing finger at his chest – "know me entirely too well."

He grabbed the finger and held it to his lips, placing a kiss upon it. "Easy, when you're becoming more and more like me every year. Now, your dream?"

"It was nothing," she said, a little too quickly. Seeing his eyebrow shoot up quizzically, she amended, "Probably nothin'. Jus' a strange dream. Bit weird, is all."

"But something obviously spooked you," the Doctor noted, smoothing down the few short locks on her forehead that had escaped from the rest of her hair, no longer yellow, but her natural colour instead, a subtle shade of hazelnut and honey that seemed to catch the sunlight, even on cloudy days. "It's not like you to have nightmares."

Without meaning to, Rose shivered. He was right; she wasn't exactly prone to bad dreams – or dreams in general. She supposed she had seen a lot of things that could induce nightmares, death and destruction and hate so great that it wanted to devour the entire universe, but she'd never dreamed on the TARDIS, but slept deeply and peacefully most "nights". Which might, of course, be put down to the fact that it was impossible to be truly afraid with the Doctor by one's side, however great the danger, but even before she'd met him, she wasn't easily scared. What of? she'd often wondered. To her, the worst had already happened. Her father had died. But unlike weaker people, it hadn't made her bitter and reckless. It had made her strong, because she knew, earlier and better than most, that life is precious and fragile and over in the blink of an eye, and you had to protect it at any cost, and prize it, and help others to see how valuable it was, how wonderful. Sitting on he parents' bed next to Jackie, legs dangling, she'd listen, wide-eyed and earnestly, to her mother's special voice, slow and meaningful and a bit unstable, telling her the story of How Her Father Died. She'd tell her about a wedding and a row and Pete's infectious smile and hare-brained schemes and a broken vase, and of the Mysterious Girl who'd appeared out of nowhere to hold Daddy's hand as he died. And these story times were at the core of her essential humanity, and her courage, although she wouldn't have called it that. She'd just always known that she couldn't bear injustice, or cruelty. She was the kind of girl whose heart went out to the drunken stranger in the corner at midnight, just because of his sweet smile and those strangely old eyes, pleading her to drive the darkness away.

The Doctor seemed to have guessed along which lines she had been thinking, because he swept her out of her reverie by lifting up her chin with his slender hand, a gesture that would have seemed patronising with every other man but with him just looked infinitely gentle, almost reverential. "Rose Tyler," he said, smiling, with that half-shake of his head she adored so much, "the girl who doesn't know fear."

"I'm not that fearless. I was afraid of losin' — you," she said, reaching for his spiky hair to flatten it playfully. To his credit, he didn't stop her. "Has already happened. Won't happen again. You're not afraid now, are you?"

"A bit," she admitted. "That's one fear I can't help having. But it's more normal now. No Daleks here. No black holes with evil beasts. I picture you in car crashes instead."

"I'm a very careful driver."

She scoffed, then, sober again, she said, "Aren't you afraid, then? That all this is gonna end?"

His brown eyes held her own. The bastard, even when he was clearly serious he still managed a smoldering look that made her stomach flip.

"Everything ends eventually. Nobody knows that better than I. But with you at my side? That doesn't scare me."

She nodded, not entirely convinced. She never was. But that was the human condition. Carrying on in defiance of death.

She used her feet to propel herself backwards until she was leaning against the headboard. Mirroring her action to sit beside her, he turned to her so that they could face each other  
"I was in a strange place," she began. "In some kind of...barn, but a weird one, with a lot of light and kind of...flimsy. The floor was sand, or covered with sand. Like it was in the desert. You couldn't hear a sound. Eerie." She shivered. "It wasn't exactly...sinister, but scary all the same. Lonely." She shook her head, her expression somber now. "So lonely."

He reached for her hand and took it in his own, squeezing it, a reminder that they were no longer lonely and would never be lonely again. Not in this life, not if he could help it, he'd sworn that to himself. He had said "forever" with a smile on his face, and deep down in his single heart he kept the memory of her smiling back at him, her heart-shaped face shining with pure, all-encompassing joy.

"I remember this. Almost remember..." he murmured, only half aware that he was doing so, and she gave a start. "What was that?" she said, but of course he passed it over . Being part human hadn't diminished his maddening habit of passing over direct questions if he had a mind to, pretending he hadn't heard them. As if he wasn't well aware that she knew about his superior audio perception. But he ignored even her annoyance of being ignored.

"The old man. What did he look like?" he asked sharply, and she flinched.

"Jus'...old," she gave back, regarding him with apprehension. "Lined face, grey hair and beard. Kind of a...retro look. Victorian maybe? But not like Dickens. Rougher. With a leather overcoat. Doctor?" She paused, looking at him with concern. His face had gone rigid, his eyes very dark, and his hands were balled into fists.

"Doctor? You look like you've seen a ghost!"

He blinked. "Maybe I have."

"A ghost from your past?"

"You could say that."

"It was you, wasn't it, Doctor?" she stated. "The old man. Which one was he? He looked nothing like the photos you've shown me."

He regarded her, saw how scared she looked, and relaxed. "The night we swapped photos, oh, what a glorious night!" he enthused suddenly. "You couldn't sleep and I began to treat you to old Doctor tales. You had a crush on my fifth incarnation, the dashing fellow! A little bit foxy, just like this body. But there was one face missing. I wonder why you should - or could - dream about it. I've never told you about it. Or anyone else, for that matter. Not in detail."

He caught the little frown that had appeared on Rose's brow, and gave her a rueful smile. "There's still a lot you don't know about me, Rose Tyler. I'm always meaning to tell you, but then it's all so far away. Stories from my past hardly seem relevant now. We have this beautiful, beautiful life together, from day to day, time passing so quickly. So many things to do. So much love to give and love received. My former life doesn't seem to matter all that much, not anymore. All that running...it does seem a bit silly now. He..he's still doing that, for the universe, fro freedom and peace, and that's just as it should be, but I – I don't need to run anymore. He's given me this gift, this fantastic gift: I don't want to run any longer. I've found the place where I can finally be still."

Rose felt a familiar bitter-sweet tug at her heart. She'd never tire of this, of seeing him so content, of hearing him voice this contentment. "Yeah?" she said, smiling with her tongue against her teeth.

"Yeah," he confirmed, grinning, "as you well know, you minx." But all he could think of was how beautiful she was looking, how winsome, in her simple checked flannels, her hair – no longer yellow, but her natural colour now, a lovely light brown that matched his own – tucked into a messy ponytail, with her warm smile and her cinnamon eyes full of sparkle, so alive, so Rose, and he gathered her to his side, pressing her face to his chest, nuzzling the top of her head, breathing in her scent.

She snuggled against him. He could her the sharp intake of her breath, the poignance of her pause when she didn't speak after all. "What?" he asked.

"He was the one who did it. The one who ended the War."

Pressing her closer to his side, he said, "I wore his face when I pushed the button."

"Except you didn't," she said levelly, extracting herself from his grip, looking him in the eye. "I saw you."

"Rose –"

" Three of you, in fact. You in pinstripes, and the old you, and the bow tie man. You were standing around that big red button, and I –"

"Rose. I don't want to know. My timelines are screwed up enough as it is."

"But Gallifrey! It –"

"Rose! No! Stop it!" he shouted. "I really don't want to know."

She shook her head, disbelieving. "But aren't you curious? I could see a change. Something realigned tonight, something – powerful. I could feel it. You —"

He sat up straighter, returning her intense gaze. "Powerful, yes. So powerful that even here, a universe away, it made you feel sick. How is that good? I don't need to know what's going on - there. It's not my responsibility anymore. You are my responsibility. And your timeline is the only one I care about."

"But - your people. They're still your people, aren't they? You're not fully human. How c'n you –"

He cut her off. "My heart is fully human. And you are holding it in your hands. You've told me too much already. Let them be. Let him be. It's not our battle anymore. For once, we have peace. That's enough for me."

She looked unconvinced. "But why could I see it? There must be a reason for that!"

He was silent for some time. "It was just a dream," he said eventually. "A dream from the past. You were able to pick up on it because you've looked into the vortex. That's a vision that never wholly leaves you. You happened to be on the corret frequency, that's all. It doesn't mean anything. Well. Apart form the fact that you need improve your telepathic shields. We'll start in the morning." He kissed the top of her head. "And now we should get some sleep. Monday tomorrow."

He put his arm around her shoulder again and let himself glide lower onto his pillow, pulling her with him. For a small moment, they faced each other, noses almost touching; then, his lips found hers, and nothing else mattered. This was the only dream that mattered: the Doctor and Rose Tyler, a universe away, without the TARDIS, and without the whole of time and space at their fingertips, and as happy as they'd ever hoped they could be. Bad Wolf Girl had come home, and so had John Smith.


End file.
